


i burn for sure

by flowermasters



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, POV Female Character, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What to Do When Your Former Boss/Partner/Friend/Crush Needs a Helping Hand, by Felicity Smoak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i burn for sure

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I finally got around to writing Olicity fic, and it's ... sex pollen. Oops. Also, this has like zero plot and is set somewhat ambiguously, because I despise getting jossed.
> 
> Warnings for: Oliver/Felicity, one-sided sex pollen trope and related consent issues (Felicity is careful about getting a 'yes', but it's still not the best of circumstances), mild sexual content, some language.
> 
> Title comes from 'I'm Shakin' by Jack White.

What starts out as a normal Tuesday night for Felicity, with Oliver out chasing low-level drug dealers, ends with Oliver barreling into the foundry and immediately sequestering himself in the bathroom. Well, it doesn't  _end_ there, really, but all Arrow-related activities end for the evening, thankfully. Otherwise things could have gotten a  _lot_  more awkward.

Felicity leaves him alone in there for a little while, but when Oliver's been completely silent in the bathroom for over ten minutes, her curiosity finally gets the better of her. "Oliver?" she calls. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he returns, but as someone who is fairly well-versed in the many subtleties of Oliver Queen, Felicity can tell that he is, in fact, Not Fine.

"Are you hurt?" she asks. If he'd been injured, though, he would have said something over the comm, or upon reaching the lair. That can't be it.

"No," Oliver replies, and he's a sneaky bastard but he can't quite hide the hoarse quality of his voice. "Call it a night, Felicity."

Felicity's starting to get worried now, even as she reluctantly heads back to her chair. It's just her and Oliver for the time being - Roy is on patrol, while Dig is spending a night in with Lyla and the baby - but there's no way in hell she's going anywhere until Oliver stops being ...  _weird_.

After almost ten more minutes of eerie quiet, Felicity is seriously concerned about whether or not Oliver is even still alive in there. Finally, she calls out, "Are you sick? Should I call someone? Because I can totally do that ..."

There's a moment's pause, and then Oliver says heavily, "Don't call anyone. Just - can you come here, please?"

_That's_  not a good sign. Felicity gets up and hurriedly crosses the room again, heels clicking loudly in the quiet space. When she reaches the door, she gives a soft knock to warn him. "Coming in now."

The door bumps something as she pushes it open, and upon slipping into the small bathroom, Felicity realizes why - Oliver's long legs are taking up nearly half the floor space. He's sitting in the corner by the sink, bare from the waist up, with the top half of his outfit balled up in his lap. His chest is damp with sweat, which Felicity fervently pretends not to notice. When he raises his gaze to meet hers, she sees that his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are a feverish shade of pink.

"Oh my God," she says, alarmed, quickly kneeling beside him in the cramped space. She presses a hand to his forehead, checking for fever, but he leans away from her touch. "You're sick? Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm not sick," he says, through slightly gritted teeth. "I've been drugged."

"What the  _hell_?" Felicity says, now doubly freaked out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He gives her a cutting look that is undermined slightly by his boyishly rosy cheeks. "I didn't know what it was at the time. Someone shot out a pipe ... I thought it was coolant."

Felicity can accept that rationale, albeit begrudgingly. "Well, I can drive you to the hospital," she says, already moving to help him up. "We can come up with an excuse on the way there - food poisoning or something -,"

"Wait," Oliver says, and reluctantly, Felicity stills. "It's not - that kind of sickness."

"Well, what is it?" Felicity asks, befuddled, and then realization begins to dawn on her. The blown pupils, sweating, and flushed cheeks could all be symptoms of an illness, but the fact that Oliver's been hiding in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes with half of his uniform carefully arranged in his lap - that smacks of something else. Felicity has a socially awkward streak a mile wide, but like many other women, she is well aware of the old "put something in your lap to hide your boner" trick.

"Oh, God. That word feels  _so_ inappropriate right now," Felicity finishes, only half aware that she's been thinking mostly out loud.

Oliver has been listening to her babble with his eyes shut, and when he doesn't respond, Felicity gives him a little shake. "Hey. Eyes open."

Obediently, he opens his eyes. "I'm okay," he says. "It's just - really hot."

Felicity gawks at him, and he clarifies, "Temperature-wise."

"I think you should go to the hospital," she says, biting her lip worriedly. "I mean, we can tell them you took Viagra or something."

Predictably, Oliver refuses. "No," he says. "I can handle this myself. And if I can't ..."

"Then I'll drag you kicking and screaming to the emergency room," she finishes, and she's pretty sure he's not dying because he actually looks amused at that thought, in his own very mild way. He also seems surprisingly unembarrassed by the whole affair, although Felicity isn't sure if that's the drug talking or if, after all the crap he's been through, some abstract talk about sex just really isn't bothersome.

There's an awkward pause, and then Felicity realizes exactly what he means by  _handle this myself_ , and says, "Oh. Right. I'm leaving now. But I'll be out there if you need me."

Oliver nods, and Felicity hurries from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Another ten minutes pass, and  _wow_ , Oliver is really quiet. Weirdly enough, Felicity hadn't expected any different. Things are so quiet that when a loud thud comes from the bathroom, Felicity nearly falls out of her chair. "Oliver?" she says, already out of her seat, half-certain that he's trying to signal to her that he's going into cardiac arrest or something.

She has the presence of mind to knock first, and to give him about ten seconds, and then she opens the door. He's got himself covered up again, but this time he looks far less composed. His brow is creased in that familiar I'm Frustrated way of his, and there's a new scuff mark on the wall, like he'd gotten particularly pissed off and punched it.

"You okay?" she asks, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. She doesn't want to panic, but she also doesn't want to be too gentle and make things awkward. There is definitely not a manual for a situation like this, although maybe she'll consider writing one later.

"It's not working," Oliver says, doing that whole talking-through-gritted-teeth thing again. "I can't - it's not happening."

Hearing Oliver stammer makes Felicity nervous - nervous enough that she literally loses all control over what pops out of her mouth next. "Do you need help?" she asks. "I mean - would it be ... easier, I guess, if someone else -,"

Oliver's eyes flick up to meet hers. "I'm not going to ask you to do that, Felicity," he says flatly.

"You're not asking," she points out. "I'm offering."

Oliver makes a quiet, frustrated noise that sounds way too close to a groan, and Felicity takes that as a no. "Alright," she says, stepping towards the door. It pains her to leave him like this, clearly miserable, but she obviously can't do anything else.

Just before she shuts the door behind her, Oliver says, "Wait."

"Yeah?" she says, poking her head back in.

He nods slowly. "Okay."

It dawns on Felicity as she goes back into the bathroom and sits down next to Oliver that perhaps this is not the best idea. After all, they're supposed to be nothing. Just friends. Sexual contact is not something that people who "can't be together" should do, right?

At the same time, Felicity would be lying outright if she said the idea of Oliver finding someone else to help him with this didn't sting. No, it should be her.

"You're sure about this?" she says quietly, when she's sitting right next to him. Oliver seems pretty in control of himself, but Felicity wants to be absolutely sure that he's capable of making this decision.

"Yeah," he says, meeting her eyes evenly and nodding, ever so slightly. That's her Oliver - always serious, even now.

Felicity tries not to think very hard after that, even though her brain essentially goes into overdrive as soon as she puts her hand on him. He makes a soft noise when she first touches him, but when she glances at his face to check for signs of discomfort, his eyes are closed and he looks okay. Well, as okay as can be in this situation.

A few minutes pass in relative quiet - although, now that she's in the bathroom with him, Felicity can tell that Oliver is  _not_  actually as silent as a crypt when someone's got their hand down his pants. However, as the minutes stretch on, she can feel Oliver getting more and more tense, and not in a fun, about-to-orgasm way.

"Still not working?" she asks worriedly - half because she really hates the thought of him being in discomfort for even one moment, and half because hand jobs are something she's always been pretty good at. You have to have nimble wrists and hands when you work with computers all day, after all.

"No, just - wait a minute," Oliver says absently, right before he leans in and kisses her.

This may be only the second time she's kissed him - and the last time hadn't been under the best of circumstances - but Felicity falls into it like she's coming home. Blessedly, she can feel Oliver relax slightly against her (in most areas of his body, at least.) When their lips part, she asks softly, "Is this what you need?"

He nods, his expression tightly controlled but with a slightly desperate look in his eyes. That look is enough. Felicity lets him kiss her again, and then she starts mouthing at his neck, her hand never stopping. Pretty quickly she realizes that Oliver has a  _thing_  for being kissed under and along his jawline, and she uses it to her advantage. Half of her is practically delirious -  _am I really doing this right now, or am I going to wake up in ten minutes needing a cold shower_  - but the other half is turned on, and she's siding with that half for the time being.

Oliver's losing his prized control now. His hips are working up to thrust into her hand, the muscles of his abdomen rippling slightly, and okay, that's hot. He's leaning into her like he needs her, like he's desperate for her and her alone. Felicity wants,  _needs_ , him to come, because if he doesn't soon she's going to lose her mind.

After another moment or two, he makes an irritated noise, and grits out, "I'm almost -  _fuck_. Felicity, I need -,"

Felicity doesn't even think for once in her life, she just does what feels right, and leans into him. She presses her lips to the sensitive spot just below his jaw, and with her left hand - the hand that is not otherwise occupied - she reaches up and cards her fingers firmly through his short hair. "Oliver," she says, her words coming out a little slurred, almost as needy as his - and it's not an act. "Oliver, come on. I've got you."

It happens just like that - he gives one soft groan, and then he's arching up, eyes slamming shut. He spills over her fist and, in a strangely endearing manner, buries his face into the crook of her neck.

Felicity gives him a minute to come down, selfishly using his nearby balled-up undershirt for a towel, but it's only when his head lolls down to her breast that she realizes holy  _shit_ , he's unconscious. "Oliver?" she says, panicking. She's contemplating calling Roy or Dig to come help her carry him up to her car when he slowly perks back up.

"I'm okay," he says softly, eyes heavy-lidded. "I feel better now. I think it's mostly out of my system."

"Good," she says, ignoring the conflicting urges to reach minimum safe distance from him or to lean into the warmth of his body. She still feels hot, flustered - still wishes she could have his hands on her later, instead of her own - but she'll be okay. She's survived worse.

"Thank you, Felicity," he says quietly. "I'm sorry you had to do that." Neither one of them has moved apart yet, although Oliver has thankfully readjusted his pants.

"It's okay," Felicity says, and she surprises herself by meaning it. "You were hurting. I helped. It's no big deal, right? I mean, it shouldn't be a big deal."

"Right," Oliver says, in that purposefully neutral way of his, and Felicity can't tell if this whole thing is a step forward or a step backwards. "Of course."

Well, at least one good thing's come of all this - Felicity can cross 'seeing Oliver Queen's O-face' off of her bucket list. Not that it's actually on there or anything, of course.


End file.
